


Liquid Sunshine

by glacis



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Good Workouts Go Bad.  Or maybe, Really Good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liquid Sunshine

_Liquid Sunshine, an X-Men workout with thanks to B!_

Logan had been back from his fruitless expedition to Canada exactly three days before he was bored out of his skull. Jeannie wasn't flirting with him; Storm was keeping her occupied. One-eye was too busy sulking over losing his girl to another girl to be any fun to torment. Wheels kept a solid wall of brats between him and everybody else; he wasn't dealing well with Magneto's imprisonment and he was damned testy. Rogue was constantly involved in classes or homework or projects or a thousand other school related things that he hadn't cared about in so long even if he could remember them he'd try to forget them. He was starting to wear out the Danger Room.

It was the only excuse he could give later for challenging Cyclops to a one-on-one workout that got, well, out of hand. It wasn't really his fault. He hadn't thought about the fact that his morning OJ was mostly 110 proof Stoly, and he sure couldn't be blamed for the fact that Summers couldn't hold his liquor. Of course, if he'd known how it was all going to work out, he'd've taken the cameras out before things got really interesting. As it was ... well, it was a good lesson in e-commerce and streaming video production, and Rogue really could use the pocket money, and they couldn't see _his_ face for most of it, so it was okay by him.

If push came to shove, he could always go back to Canada.

But that was getting ahead of the story, and slight as it was, it still waited to be told.

 

Wolverine took down yet another programmed foe with a fierce howl of rage and a double back somersault with all claws extended. It was a pretty good move, but he was getting bored with fighting phantoms. So when Cyclops stuck his head around the door, he nearly took it off, just for practice.

That, and to see the kid flinch. He'd take his fun however he could get it.

A warning red glare simmered at him from behind the visor, and he grinned with feral playfulness.

"Hey, little boy, wanna come in and play?"

It wasn't one of his best lines, but it worked. Cyclops slunk in and took up a defensive position. Logan launched himself at the kid.

The kid punched him in the gut and sent him flying flat on his arse.

He was so surprised he actually sat there for a minute. A minute too long, since Summers let out a howl almost as animalistic as one of his own and launched himself at Wolverine.

The next half hour was a free for all. Both men ended up bruised, bleeding, and battered. Clothes were torn, equipment was scattered to hell and back, weapons were tossed aside for the sheer physical exuberance of beating the snot out of each other bare-fisted. By the time they rolled over in a tangle and fetched up hard against the wall, they were both sweating and out of breath.

They were both also more relaxed than they'd each been in weeks.

By happenstance Scott ended up sprawled on top Logan, and he collapsed there, pinning the stockier man to the floor by the simple maneuver of allowing every muscle to turn to mush and being a deadweight. Logan could easily have hefted him over and off, but he was pleasantly tired, and the kid didn't weigh that much.

Besides, he smelled kinda good.

Before he could take that instinct to the proper, or improper, conclusion, Cyclops removed temptation by flopping off to the side and lying there, panting. Logan turned his head and stared at him. Ol' One-eye looked as good as he smelled. His hair was dark with sweat, his face was flushed and streaks of sweat made his skin glow. His cheekbones under the visor looked like they were chipped out of ivory glass. His mouth ...

Leaping up suddenly, before he lost what was left of his senses and jumped Cyclops, he trotted over to his bag and grabbed his thermos. Taking a gulp, savoring the burn all the way down his gut, he tossed over his shoulder, "Want some?"

"You're too damned energetic," Cyke told him, puffing between the words. "Some what?"

"OJ," Wolverine answered, sauntering over to stand over Scott, breathing already under control, grinning down at the kid with what he knew was an insufferably smug grin on his face. Cyclops pulled himself to his feet and swayed for a second before he got his balance.

"Sure." He took the thermos Logan offered, staring suspiciously down at it, then shrugged and took a slug that half emptied it. Logan knew the instant the kid realized it was not exactly right off the tree. The flush darkened, the red glow behind the visor flared, and that pretty mouth gaped open like a landed fish.

"Oh, didn't I mention?" he asked innocently. "I like a little kick after a workout."

"Ahh ..." Scott coughed twice before he could speak again. "A ... little kick? Whathefuck was that?" Then, to Logan's surprise and amusement, Scott took another huge gulp.

"Hey, don't suck it all down, Cyke." He wrested the thermos away from the tall, slightly unsteady figure, and drank the final two swallows. He looked forlornly into the empty depths of the thermos bottle. "Pig."

"Didn' get any supper. Shouldn'ta offered if ya didn't wanna share," Cyclops informed him solemnly. "Wanna go again."

Wolverine looked up just in time to see the other man dive for him. He barely had time to toss the thermos out of harm's way on top his bag before he had a double armful of determined, semi-coordinated, irritated Cyclops. Words were dripping out as Scott swung at him. For a guy who'd just put down most of a bottle of vodka, he had damned good aim. Logan was caught between laughing and ducking, and missed most of Scott's rambling. Just as well. Words like "worthless bitch" and "no damned luck" and "screwed" and "fine with me" made it clear enough Scott was getting a whole lot of aggression out over his break up with Jean. Logan was finding the whole thing too funny to put a stop to it any too soon.

They danced a sloppy waltz of weaving punches, lopsided chops and mistimed kicks for several minutes as Logan laughed progressively harder and Scott missed progressively worse. By the time the vodka had soaked into Cyclops' brain and knock him completely off-kilter, he was staggering after Wolverine, chasing him and cussing him under his breath. Logan danced backward, taunting him, daring him, staying just out of range, and laughing his ass off. In the end, it was the cackling that tripped him up.

Scott made a spectacularly off-balance roundhouse kick that missed Logan's chin by a half mile, and Logan doubled over at the sight of Cyclops' long legs winding themselves up until the Fearless Leader of the X Men landed flat on his face. Next thing he knew, Scott had shimmied over to him and wrapped both hands in his hair, pulling him all the way over and rolling back on top of him.

When he finally stopped laughing and realized where he was, Logan looked up into Scott's triumphant, if decidedly askew grin. Scott's hands were still buried in his hair. His legs were wrapped around Logan's hips, feet tucked back behind Logan's knees. Logan had a double handful of Scott's ass.

He didn't move his hands.

"Got ya!" Scott crowed.

"Now whatcha gonna do with me?" Logan asked, an evil grin on his face. Scott looked confused. It wasn't much of a stretch.

"Beatcha up?" He sounded like he was asking permission. Logan fought hard not to crack up again.

"No," he told him. Scott sighed, a pathetic sound.

"Sit on ya?" he asked hopefully.

"Ya already are," Logan reminded him.

"Hmm." Scott pushed his lower lip out. Logan had to bite his own to keep from reaching up and sucking on it. "Whup ya?" The hopeful note was stronger. So was the questioning tone. Logan shook his head no.

"Not in this lifetime, bub."

"I got metal in me, too. Strongest metal ever." Cyclops sounded ridiculously proud of his non sequitor. Logan squinted up at him.

"Oh, yeah? Where?"

In answer, Cyclops lowered himself until they were chest to chest and rubbed himself against Logan like a tomcat in heat. The sheer musk of the man made the breath catch in Logan's throat.

"Tit'num. Nippler -- nibplern -- nippblelen -- in my tit."

It took a second for Logan to decode that one. "Titanium nipple ring?"

Scott nodded happily, still slowly rubbing his chest against Logan. Now he could feel it. The little nub was dragging against him. Driving him nuts. Fast.

"Hate to break it to ya, bub. But while the ring may be strong," he pushed the gently writhing body far enough back to flick a claw out and delicately spear the ring, careful not to break the skin when he pushed through the fabric, "it's not exactly a weapon."

"Can be," Cyclops purred, slurring dangerously. Logan carefully retracted his claw before the kid made any unexpected moves and ended up ringless and in a hell of a lot of pain.

"I'm scared." He managed not to laugh. "So, we gonna sit here all day or you gonna get on with it?"

"With **what**?" Scott sounded indignant and very confused. He pushed his face close to Logan's, challenging him. His hair was falling over his visor. The red beam was completely diffused, shining out at all angles. He felt as good as he looked and smelled.

Logan struggled for a whole two seconds with his conscience, then tossed scruples to the wind and growled suggestively, "Kiss me?"

The bright, beaming, off-kilter grin was back. "I c'n do that!" And he proceeded to do so.

Lying there with Scott Summers' hands in his hair, body squirming all over the front of his, and tongue halfway down his throat, Logan had an epiphany. The kid was good for something besides tormenting. He was damned good for sex.

He tasted like salt and oranges and a tang of booze. Clean. Hungry. Or maybe it was Logan's hunger. Didn't really matter. It was there. So he went with it.

Two index claws slid out and ran from Scott's waist to his shoulders, opening his shirt to Logan's touch. The skin along his spine was soft and thin, slick with sweat. He concentrated on breathing when he could through his nose and let Scott work at his mouth, while he moved his hands and carefully separated Cyke from his clothing. In very little time, the only things the kid had left on were his boots and his visor.

Wrapping one hand around Scott's jaw, Logan managed to wrench their mouths apart. His lips felt sore. He liked it. "Hold that thought. Take off your boots." He pushed the gangly tangle of arms and legs off him far enough to be able to strip. He was completely naked before Cyclops managed to get his first boot unfastened. Sighing, he reached over and finished stripping Scott, too.

"You can't hold your drink worth shit, can ya?" he groused, then pushed Scott over onto his back and leaned down to start biting at his chest. His skin tasted as good as his mouth had.

Unintelligible garbled noises were coming from above his head, and he glanced up. Cyke had his head tossed back, and little spurts of harmless light were zinging through his visor. He looked like a human sparkler, humming away to himself, hands flailing uselessly in the air as he wriggled beneath Logan. For some reason, the complete vulnerability and relaxation in a guy who usually looked like he had a ruler shoved up his ass was an incredible turn-on for Wolverine.

Now that he had all that skin and long lean muscle under his hands and his mouth, he had to taste and smell and roll around on all of it. One-eye didn't have any objections. He was babbling away happily and reaching for every little bit of Logan he could reach, too. The fact that his hands kept slipping off and his mouth wouldn't reach didn't deter him. If nothing else, he was a happy drunk, as well as a horny one.

Wolverine took his time and scented him everywhere, running his tongue along the hollows under his cheekbones, down the tendons in his throat, along his collar bone, down his rib cage. He took special care when he got to Scott's chest, playing with the nipple ring the kid was so proud of, enjoying the breathless whines and broken whimpers that caused. Then he spent an equally long time running his hands over those long legs, bending them back around him, reveling in the flex of the strong thighs and the curve of the calves.

Not wanting it to end before he was ready, he completely ignored the erection Scott kept trying to stick in his face or rub against his shoulder or push into his hand. He had a sneaking suspicion as soon as the kid came he'd be out like a light, and he had more he wanted to do before they called it quits. Who knew when he might get a chance like this again, and he planned to make the most of it.

Besides, it was kinda enjoyable to hear Cyke whimper like that. He'd heard manlier-sounding puppies. It was endearing, in a sexy, desperate kind of way.

Once he'd licked and stroked his way down the front of his victim, he flipped Scott over and headed up the back. By the time he got to the nicely rounded ass cheeks, the hips under his hands were moving a little too rhythmically and the whimpers were closer to moans.

"Not yet, buddy," he growled, and yanked Scott up onto his knees. An anguished howl met the move, as the nice hot friction Cyclops had been enjoying turned to unfriendly cold air in a flash. Wolverine showed no pity. He was enjoying himself too much. Running a hand the length of Scott's spine, he pushed the kid's head down and left his ass up in the air.

It was one temptation too many, and Logan was licking and opening him up before he even thought about it. The howl muted to a series of short, sharp groans, punctuated by almost-coherent pleas to be fucked. Close to the end of his rope himself, Logan obliged, kneeling up behind Scott and pulling the long legs back around his own thighs, seating that tempting ass in his lap. Logan had to work to get into him. If Cyke had ever been fucked, it had been a long time. Meeting the first strong resistance, hearing and smelling pain along with the want, he slowed down considerably and took his time working his way in.

By the time he was seated, the whiff of pain was gone, and he had a lapful of pushy, demanding Cyclops. Long brown hair was flopping onto the floor in front of him, his face was buried in his forearms, and he was using all the muscles in his back and legs to pump himself back onto Wolverine. Shaking his head at the demanding way Scott was going at him, Logan had to assert himself or completely lose control of the situation.

Rising onto his knees, he caged Scott's squirming torso with his arms and bent forward over his back. One hand went down to Scott's groin and started pulling at his erection. The other one clamped around the nape of his neck and held him down so he didn't try to take over the action again. He set a driving rhythm with his hips and buried his face between Scott's shoulder blades, licking and biting the skin there as he fucked the kid into the middle of next week. Right there on the floor of the Danger Room.

When he finally came, he thought the top of his head would blow off. Cyclops surprised him by lasting out through his climax, then coming himself when Logan regained his senses enough to lay on Scott's back and finish jerking him off. The spasms around him nearly made him come again, and Cyke howled one last time as he came. For a buttoned-down uptight goody two-shoes, One-eye was a wild animal once he got started.

As he'd expected, as soon as Scott came, he passed out cold. Logan had been surprised he'd lasted as long as he had, actually. Not wanting to shock any of the little kiddies in case they wandered in by accident, he dressed Cyclops in what was left of his clothes and bundled him up into a corner of the room, carefully covering him with a blanket he found back in the supply locker. Then he gathered up his bag, his own clothes, and his thermos, and quietly left the room.

He slept better that night than he had in weeks.

The next morning at breakfast, Rogue wouldn't meet his eyes. She kept blushing. He lifted an eyebrow at her and settled down beside her, digging into toast and eggs. The door opened and Cyclops came into the room. He was walking very carefully, and making a determined effort not to move his head. Logan made no attempt to cover his grin.

"How ya feelin' this morning, Cyke?" he boomed deliberately. The weak red glow disappeared completely and he just knew there was a king-sized wince on that pretty face.

"Fine," came the steely reply, through gritted teeth. A hand that shook almost imperceptibly reached out for a cup of black coffee, then Scott settled gingerly on the edge of a chair and sat, ramrod straight, staring at the cup. Logan half expected it to go up in flames from the intensity of the ruby glare directed into it.

Beside him, Rogue blushed even harder.

"Awfully sorry. Seemed like a good idea at the time," she muttered, then scooted out the door, abandoning her breakfast. Wolverine absently munched on her bacon.

Jean walked into the room and stopped dead, staring at him, then over at Cyclops. She squared her shoulders and walked over to drop a handful of papers on the table in front of her ex-boyfriend. Logan's ears pricked up and he listened in.

"I think we managed to close the site down in time, but I don't know how many people downloaded it. She's sorry. Really." Her whisper came through loud and clear.

So did the muffled "oh, shit!" from Scott, followed immediately by a roar of "Rogue!" that had Cyke putting one hand to the top of his head to hold it on as he hustled out the door after Marie. Logan rose unhurriedly and peered over to see what Jean had printed out.

Well, at least his own face wasn't all that clear. Maybe it was time to go back to Canada, after all.

He glanced over at Jean, who was barely holding back her grin. Over at the pitcher of orange juice. Down at the grainy black and white print out of Scott Summers splayed out like a buffet table, and him helping himself to dessert. He grinned wickedly. Then again, maybe not.

Swooping up the pitcher of OJ, he headed for his room, his stash of Stoly, and his thermos bottle. It had worked once. Maybe next time he wouldn't need the liquid sunshine to lubricate the tin man. Maybe next time he'd just ask. And maybe, to keep Marie from a pile of trouble, he'd ask real soon.

Somehow, he didn't think the answer would be no.

_end_


End file.
